Three Englishmen Walk Into A Bar
by RhiannonAmaris
Summary: Well, one gets carried really.


**Disclaimer-**Wisdom was created to Warren Ellis and is owned by Marvel Comics. Constantine was created by Alan Moore and is owned by DC Comics. Spike was created by Joss Whedon and is most likely owned by the same. Me, I own a pile of dirty laundry and a salt covered car.

Three Englishmen Walk Into A Bar

By RhiannonAmaris

The dark bar had retained the desert sun's heat long after it had set. The man with black hair sat in the most shadow filled corner and knocked back a shot of over-priced whiskey.

The black ops mercenaries that had set up shop with Black Air technology had been taken care of, but some of the problems they had caused were beyond his expertise. So Pete Wisdom was waiting on someone who could take care of it.

"You're looking pretty lousy, even for a dead man, old son."

The spy managed to not look surprised, but only just. "Constantine." How well the older man could manage to sneak up on people never failed to disturb Pete. "You're late."

The mage smiled, reading the discomfort through the indifferent mask. "There aren't exactly all that many rides to hitch out this way." He shrugged. John was covered in a thin layer of dust; his shirt looked tan rather than white and the tie around his neck was loose. He threw his trench coat and suit jacket over a chair and gestured to the bar keep.

Pete frowned. "We don't have all that much time."

"If it were as urgent as you think it is I could tell from here. Keep your shirt on. Besides I was using the S…" He glanced at the spy. "I won't bother explaining, your sister would get it. I should have gotten here sooner. I want to see what's so bloody interesting about now."

The place's owner and bar tender, a half-mad Australian came around with another glass and a bottle. "Thanks mate."

Pete sneered and poured himself another shot. "Fine. I'll fill you in on what we know already, so we aren't completely wasting our time." They drifted into conversation; half an eye kept on the rest of the room.

A group of the local tribesmen walked in, looking disturbed and confused. One of them, who seemed to be a leader of some sort, searched the room until he found John. "Friend of yours?" Pete asked quietly.

"Never seen him before in my life." Constantine managed to look out of the corner of his eye. "He's the shaman. What the hell are they carrying?"

"Looks like a who from here. They're heading towards us. Just remember, you're the one who wanted to hang about."

The shaman was somewhere between sixty and six hundred. "You are the Laughing Magician." He stated in stilted English.

Pete stifled a snigger.

The other locals sat down their burden roughly. It made a pained sound. The man was a bruised and battered Caucasian in his twenties. His hair was bleached white with honey brown at the roots and the few bits of skin that weren't scabbed over or mottled green and purple were alabaster. He was quite frankly the palest non-albino Pete had ever set eyes on.

John grunted in surprise after giving him a close look.

"The drinker of blood came here two weeks ago. He hurt no one and asked the way to the cave of the… I do not know the word in English… We leave offerings and leave it alone. Blood drinkers and other such things come to it from time to time. They do not leave. Ever." He glared down at the figure on the floor. "This one emerged two nights ago."

"Won." The pitiful sight on the floor mumbled in a thick Cockney. "I beat the soddin' trials." He struggled to sit up and fell back down. "This wasn't what I had in mind. It wasn't supposed to _hurt_ with it back." He curled around himself.

Constantine straightened. "You _asked_ for it? That's one for the books."

Pete sighed. "I don't suppose any of you would care to enlighten me as to what's going on? Of course not."

"He's a vampire."

"Whitest bloke in the world and he's being referred to as a 'blood-drinker'. I never would have guessed."

The tribesmen turned to leave. John shot out of his seat so fast it was amazing the chair didn't fall over. "Oi! You aren't leaving him here! I'm not your bloody vampire sitter. S'not my fault your tribal demon didn't kill him." Then they were gone. "Shite." John sat back down.

"Well you certainty told them. You can't bring it with." Pete finished his whiskey and glanced at the bottle.

"Well I bloody can't leave _him_ here, can I. Even with the soul. I mean it doesn't stop humans, does it."

"I met a vampire who had a soul once. If he's gonna be anything like that I say we stake him now." Pete poured himself another shot.

The vampire sat up suddenly and glared at Wisdom. "Peaches is a sodding wanker. Compare me to him again and I'll break your neck. Even if the chip is still in there." He grabbed the bottle and took a swig.

"I'll keep that in mind Spike." John said. "Or do you prefer William the Bloody. Or William Byron for that matter."

"Spike, but I'll answer to the other two." He struggled up off of the floor and sat, wincing the whole time. "So what do you prefer? The Magus, Conjob, the Hated, the Laughing Magician, Constantine, the Bastard?"

"John, Constantine or Conjob. The Bastard is a new one to me. Inaccurate as well, if we're being literal. How did you know who I am? I've always avoided your lot like the plague."

"I could ask the same of you, but I've three words for you. Mucous Membrane bit." He smirked.

"True. Ripper's mentioned you. He ought to get a laugh out of this."

The smirking indifference was replaced by fearful worry. "Don't care if the Watcher knows, but he'll tell the rest." He shook his head. "Couldn't stand the bleedin' Scoobies laughing over it and God knows they will. No, that isn't true. The Bit, Glinda and Red wouldn't, just the whelp. And Lord only knows what She'll make of it…" The vampire trailed off and buried his head in his hands.

"Ah, the bird in the picture." John raised his glass. "I was wondering about the whole soul thing."

"And why are you so sure this is about a woman." Pete drawled, amused.

Constantine caught his eyes. "It's always about a woman. You of all people should know that."

"Shut the hell up." The spy and the vampire spoke with one voice.

"Whatever the two of you say." Constantine turned back to the vampire. "Let's see, Red and Glinda are probably the witches Rupert mentioned, haven't a clue who the Bit is, and its sounding like the whelp is a bloke. That leaves Anyanka and the Slayer. Wouldn't figure Anyanka for your type, but--" John stopped mid-sentence as he stared at Spike's confused expression at the mention of the Vengeance Demon. "Christ on a crutch. Somebody up or down there s having one hell of a giggle. You're in love with a Slayer."

"Fuck off." Pete straightened as the peroxide blonde's eyes became yellow and forehead ridged. "Doesn't matter anyway. It doesn't make any difference at all. Look it's none of your concern." He sighed and his features became human again. "I don't suppose there's a butcher nearby?"

"Probably not. It really didn't sound as if you want to you're wanting to head back to the Hellmouth just now." The English mage took out a pack of Silk Cut and lit one.

"Soon but not straight away. The soul thing seemed a good idea at the time, but I've always been daft at planning. Could I bum one of those off you? Ta." He dug out a battered Zippo.

"Well, if Mr. Bond here--"

"You know that one wasn't funny the first thousand times I heard it." Wisdom observed, rolling his eyes.

John chuckled. "But it always gets a rise out of you. What I was getting at was our friend here could be useful in your work. Especially with the bit in the States since Black Air has a sister organization that you were telling me about."

"Black Air… Bloody hell, that's the lot that tried to raise Jabulon in the middle of London." The vampire whistled.

"One and the same. Still enough of it left to be a pain in my ass." The spy groused. "The Initiative looks to be more of the same."

Spike grinned. "I knew it. I bloody well knew it. And I'll lay odds Captain Cardboard's still in the thick of it. If you want any help with that lot just point me at the bastards. Anybody that squeaky clean is fake. Protecting humanity from hostile sub-terrestrials my pale undead ass."

Pete sighed. "Fine. We'll do this your way John. I'm bloody well going to regret this though. How do you feel about doing a bit for Queen and Country, Spike?"

"Why the hell not." He could have spoken of eating Nazi's, but Conjob might know about that U-boat crew. "It'll be good for a laugh."

Fin


End file.
